no words.

When I was young, I read a poem in a book by Brian Andreas and I cried because I thought I would never truly understand what the author meant.

Then I grew older, and met a man who far surpassed any man from my dreams. I copied the words over bright red pastels to give to him and I cried because I thought the poem was about me.

Then I grew older still, and brought two beautiful boys into the world on the same cold December morning. Lying awake at night, watching their tiny chests rise and feeling their small hands grasping for my fingers, I cried because I realized that all this time I had been wrong to think I knew what love was.